


I've never fallen from quite this high

by twistedmiracle



Series: The Royal Series [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Modern Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 11:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19208110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedmiracle/pseuds/twistedmiracle
Summary: When you read "You Should See Me In A Crown" did you have a million questions about how Eric ended up in Jack's castle? In Jack's bedroom? This should help!





	I've never fallen from quite this high

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from "Ocean Eyes" by Billie Eilish.
> 
> So, I wrote the first one, and then Jacquee asked me all these great questions. I already had some backstory in my head for Eric, but then I was so delighted to think it over more carefully to answer Jacquee's questions, that once I was done doing that in the comments, I just... kept writing. :)
> 
> Thanks, Jacquee! And thanks as well to SunshineAndaLittleFlour, who practically had to come out of a coma to beta this thing! (I kid! But hey, Get Well Soon!!)

Prince Eric could not actually remember learning he would never take the throne. It was just a fact that had always been there, something he’d known his whole life. For Prince Eric might be his mother’s oldest child and only son, but Queen Suzanne was the King’s second wife, and his three half-brothers were all in line before him.

And honestly, Prince Eric had never minded being fourth in line. (Well, eighth, now. The Morgan royal family was very big on babies. His oldest brother Thomas and his wife Eva had two sons already. Second-born Prince Michael and his wife Sarah had twin boys last month. Eric’s two nieces didn’t count in the line of royal succession, though, and while Prince Eric thought that extra stupid, he also knew it was a battle he couldn’t win.)

No, being the King’s youngest son wasn’t a problem. Being much, much younger than his half-brothers wasn’t a problem, either. Not even having a mother who doted on him to the point where sometimes it felt suffocating was all that much of a problem. Prince Eric dearly loved his mother. The _problem_ was that Prince Eric was a Prince of Morgan, the most conservative, Christian monarchy in all Europe, and Prince Eric… was gay. 

Prince Eric had finally accepted this reality at the age of fourteen. Normally, a Morgan Prince of that age would not have travelled around Europe with his parents. He would have remained with the Army, where all Morgan Princes (and the vast majority of young noblemen) were meant to find their education, vocation and calling. Prince Eric had been barracked with the Army for almost 8 months by then. (Though he still took his evening meal with his parents most nights. He was, after all, barracked right there at the castle.)

But, as mentioned previously, Queen Suzanne was wont to dote on her only child, and she wheedled the King until he allowed Prince Eric to tag along one last time on their summer journeys. Ostensibly the purpose of this trip was to encourage trade and open business opportunities. More realistically it was to escape the nasty summer heat most of Morgan labored under from about mid-June through early September every year.

That summer, Prince Eric enjoyed the trip more than he ever had. He was finally old enough to attend most of the parties and functions, instead of being sequestered away with a governess and treated like an infant. (At thirteen, that had truly stung.) It was at just such a function, in the Kingdom of Samwell, in the mountains north of Morgan, that Prince Eric saw… _him_. Prince Jack.

That evening, dressed to the nines as usual, but not sure exactly what to expect, Prince Eric entered the ballroom behind his parents, and nearly stepped on his mother’s train. For there he was: Prince Jack, heir to the Samwell throne. A month shy of seventeen years old. Six feet tall if he was an inch. Surely at least two hundred pounds and he looked like he could bench press scrawny little Prince Eric while yawning and possibly also knitting. Dressed up far too formally for Prince Eric to be sure about his abs or pecs, but that didn’t stop a wistful young prince from dreaming about the possibilities. (Thanks to his Army training, he’d seen quite a lot of naked and half-naked boys and men by then.) Prince Jack had hair black as night, teeth white as snow, eyes as blue as a summer sky. Cheekbones that could cut silk, too.

It was that evening, while half-hiding behind a large fern and staring surreptitiously at Prince Jack, that Prince Eric came to an inescapable conclusion. Those sharp feelings and hazy daydreams (and vivid nighttime dreams) of men that he had been forcing down and ignoring for months now were not a fluke. They were a warning. 

Prince Eric could hardly breathe, let alone approach the other prince. Speaking actual human _words_ to Prince Jack? (French or English, either one.) A laughable pipe dream.

Which was, he told himself for the next few years, why Prince Jack had not said a single word to him all night, and seemingly had not so much as noticed that Prince Eric was attending the party. Eric told himself over and over that this did not sting. Rumor had it, Prince Jack had a harem girl. Already! At sixteen! He was — clearly — straight. He would never be interested in Eric, or any other Prince. Or man. Or boy. _Clearly_. 

As soon as Prince Eric got home to Morgan he did, however, get a great deal more serious about studying French. His tutors were all very pleased. He also insisted on learning how to ice skate and then how to play hockey, although absolutely no one could get him to explain why. 

“Morgan is football country,” King Richard kept saying, baffled. “Hockey is for northerners, like Samwell, and Canada.”

“I just like it,” Prince Eric would answer, stubbornly, and finish lacing his skates. And lucky for Prince Eric, plenty of his enlisted friends liked it too, for while hockey might not be the _most_ popular sport in Morgan, they did have a decent border with Samwell, and plenty of people from the northernmost provinces of Morgan liked hockey just fine.

M~S~M~S~M~S~M~S~M

Prince Eric’s studies and training continued. His fifteenth birthday came and went, and his sixteenth. His French improved, his sword-fighting skills improved, his hockey speed and strength improved, and he deepened friendships with several of the noble sons he was barracked alongside. He snuck into the castle kitchens whenever he could get away with it and baked without his parents ever seeming to know or care. Most of all, he told absolutely no one he was gay, and did not so much as chance a single internet search about homosexuality. A Prince’s life was far too public for such a risk.

As his seventeen and a half birthday celebration loomed, Prince Eric felt prepared for this year to be much like the previous years, but to his surprise, it was not to be.

On the night of his half birthday, Prince Eric attended a dinner in his own honor. Few were in attendance, but those who were there were of the highest birth, the most influence and power. Not a one of his Army or hockey friends were there, but his closest friend’s father was, the Earl of Madison, and he greeted the man warmly. The Earl’s son, Ira, was barracked with Prince Eric and had been since Ira had turned exactly thirteen and a half a month after Eric had. Prince Eric’s friend David also had family present: his grandfather, the Marquess of Perriman. All three of Prince Eric’s half brothers were in attendance, with their wives. Timothy’s wife, Prince Eric slowly realized, seemed to be pregnant.

There was, in fact, only one other teenager present at the dinner party. Only one other person under the age of 25. Ira’s first cousin, the Lady Chloe.

Prince Eric’s heart sank when he realized. Ira loved to talk about his siblings and cousins, so he had told Prince Eric all about Chloe already. Besides, she looked so much like Ira that Prince Eric recognized her immediately. Shy and pretty, she was a year younger and a few inches shorter than Prince Eric. She was also, probably, a very nice person, but Prince Eric was quite sure he knew why she was there, and he had thought he would be allowed to deal with this on his own time. He was eighth in line! Wasn’t the royal family big enough already?

Indeed, he found out that night that he and Chloe were expected to wed. Mama sat Prince Eric down and asked him what he thought of the party, the food, the gifts. And the Lady Chloe. Would she not make a fine bride for a Prince? Prince Eric tried to argue with his mother. Thomas had been allowed to choose Eva for himself. Michael had chosen Sarah completely on his own. Timothy had been allowed the privilege of choosing Emily. So why was Prince Eric having a bride shoved at him now? He had only been seventeen and a half for a few hours!

Queen Suzanne listened patiently as her son ranted and argued, and when he was finally done, she patted the cushion on the divan and insisted he sit next to her.

“When their poor mother died in that terrible accident, your brothers were too young to socialize with young women. By the time your father and I married, Thomas had, indeed, already met Eva and begun to woo her. Of course, he met her at a function your father planned for the court. But you are wrong about Michael and Timothy. Your father and I introduced your middle brothers to their wives, and we explained what was expected of them. If Chloe is completely unacceptable to you, though I cannot imagine why she would be, then your father and I are willing to discuss alternatives. But we expect you to socialize with her, first.”

And that, as they say, was that. How was Prince Eric to explain to his mother _why_ Chloe was indeed, “completely unacceptable?” There was, after all, nothing _wrong_ with Chloe. She was pretty. Ira said she was intelligent and funny. Ira, indeed, was completely thrilled at the posited match between his best buddy and his very own cousin. “We’ll be family!” he said, pounding Prince Eric on the back.

“We’re already like family,” Prince Eric mumbled, but not until Ira had left earshot.

How was Prince Eric supposed to fix _this_?

The only perk of turning seventeen and a half was getting a private bedroom again. Aside from parts of that trip around Europe the previous summer, he’d not slept alone in a room since he had joined the Army. He still didn’t dare most internet searches, but there were books he could borrow briefly, skim and return to the library shelves before he was noticed. And then he could use his privacy to do things he had never dared try before. Like masturbate. _With objects._

Prince Eric learned he was capable of getting quite a lot of candle inside his rear end before he ceased to actively enjoy the sensation. He just had to make sure not to let go of it.

Luckily he learned about that particular detail before the first time he tried it.

And he seriously did not need any sort of gay sex emergency. Not least of which because it would have interfered with his daydreams about the sexiest boy he had ever seen: Prince Jack of Samwell. There was no one Prince Eric preferred to think about whenever he managed to be alone and awake long enough to explore himself again.

M~S~M~S~M~S~M~S~M

A few months passed, and Prince Eric was almost able to forget about his engagement. Yes, he and the Lady Chloe were shoved together at a few dinners and picnics and such. But since it would have been completely scandalous were they ever alone together, all Prince Eric had to do was be pleasant and make small talk. He’d always been excellent at such things, so spending time with Chloe just felt like making his first female friend.

And the Lady Chloe was, actually, pretty nice. Her voice was ridiculously quiet, but she was still funny. She knew the absolute worst puns, hockey was her favorite game (she’d played until she was 10, when her parents said she had to switch to figure skating because hockey was no longer proper), and she, Prince Eric and Ira could enjoy those fancy, formal gatherings a lot more when the three of them had each other as companions.

So it came as rather a shock when, a very short nine months after they were first introduced, Queen Suzanne said it was time to start planning the wedding. It would be held the week that Eric turned eighteen and a half, a mere three months away.

Over the next several weeks Prince Eric tried everything he could think of to weasel out of his wedding.

 **Chloe wasn’t 18 yet!** No one cared but Eric.

 **It had already been nine months, and Eric had not fallen in love with her.** That would come in time. Arranged marriages were a time-honored tradition, and he needed to respect the process.

 **He’d not yet been commissioned as an officer!** That would happen when he reached 19-and-a-half, just like all his brothers, had he not been paying attention?

 **He and the Lady Chloe both liked ice sports, so couldn’t they postpone the wedding until February, and have a snowflake theme?** If an early November wedding wasn’t snowy enough they could just hire machines to make snow. But yes, a snowflake theme sounded lovely! See, Mama knew you were going to be excited about this wedding!

 **He’d always wanted to travel!** He could travel the world with Chloe by his side. And wouldn’t that be a lovely first year? Where did he want to take Chloe on the honeymoon?

 **Half birthdays were traditional times for Morgan’s royal family to mark big milestones, of course, but he wasn’t a traditional kind of guy, so couldn’t they get married in June, as was traditional in Chloe’s family?** The _groom_ was in charge, so the wedding date was set with the _groom’s_ family's traditions in mind. His mother gave him a sharp look at that one, and said “if I didn’t know what a sweet, soft-spoken little dear Chloe was, I would wonder if that girl was trying to wear the trousers!”

Finally, Prince Eric, completely out of alternatives, broke down and confessed in a harsh, miserable whisper. “Mama, I can’t marry her. I think I might be… gay.” To that, the reaction was swift and virulent. **Nonsense. Impossible. Never say those words again.** Prince Eric shuffled miserably back to his bedroom and claimed to have a stomach ache for the next two and a half days.

It took just over a month to plan his escape. He couldn’t write anything down, but he couldn’t leave anything to chance, either. The closer the wedding date got, the more nervous he became, but he knew he had to have every detail perfectly planned before he could disappear.

He vanished completely from Morgan just a few weeks before his half birthday. And, you know, _his wedding_.

He hadn’t confessed a word of his plans to anyone, not even Ira or David. Not even Chloe, who had become a genuine friend. He couldn’t put anyone he cared about in a miserable bind like that. So he retired to his rooms right after a big afternoon picnic, having acted his heart out convincing everyone there that he was nervous, but excited to marry Chloe. Then, knowing he wouldn’t be checked on for nearly 24 hours, he excused himself a little early, saying he needed rest. Instead, he shaved off and thoroughly burned every last bit of his lovely blonde curls, temporarily darkened his new buzzcut with shoe polish, slipped into some stolen clothes, and left the castle at dusk, head down like the rest, trudging tiredly alongside a clutch of workers who, he had already sussed out, barely knew one another. The Queen had hired so much extra help to prepare everything for Prince Eric’s damned wedding.

He learned nearly a week later that he’d got across the border and well into Samwell before the alarm was even raised. Heaven bless the Army for not only teaching him how to drive stick shift, but also for storing decommissioned vehicles under remarkably lax security while they awaited recommissioning. (Everyone assumed they were dead and therefore useless. And they all were, except the one in perfect condition that Prince Eric had snuck in there two nights before, just before dinner with his parents. He’d also shoved a Corporal’s uniform under the front seat, and added forged “official orders” to drive all the way to the northern border.)

Prince Eric crossed between the two _mostly_ friendly nations at a checkpoint that should have been staffed, but (Prince Eric knew from overhearing a tired old officer brag about his own superior discipline to whomever would listen), rarely managed to have anyone awake between three and four am. At least, not on weekdays. He hid the old Morgan Army jeep in a parking lot so enormous he thought no one would ever find it again, making sure to park it with its tail deep in an overgrown bush. That way, no one would happen to notice that he’d removed the license plate. He slipped back into floury workman’s clothing and stuffed the Corporal’s uniform deep in the same bush. Then he walked to the other end of the park and ride lot, bought a ticket with the Samwell money he’d presciently “collected” during his visit at fourteen, and got on a train to Samwell’s capital city: Samwell City itself.

He told himself he was heading for the castle for reasons that had nothing to do with handsome Prince Jack, the beautiful young man he’d never forgotten. Because, of course, Eric knew castles. He knew royal protocol and fussy detail and spoiled royalty. He knew the difference between power and authority, and how to defer to them both, or sidestep them without incurring a penalty. From the Army, he knew how to keep a calm visage, how to work himself to the bone, and how take orders — even ones that sound silly. 

Eric also knew about castle gossip. If he was hiding inside Samwell’s castle he could probably stay hidden if (when) his parents came looking for him. He would hear scuttlebutt about what was going on before it could affect him. He’d be able to hide. Besides, he honestly couldn’t imagine his parents would think to look for him in a _kitchen_. 

When Prince Eric arrived at Samwell’s largest castle he gave them the story he’d worked up. His name was John Bittle. He’d grown up in Morgan, on the Samwell/Morgan border. His parents wanted him in the Army, but he was a pacifist. So, hat in hand, did they need a baker? Luckily, they did! And even better, if he proved himself, Queen Alicia was always looking for someone to tempt her son with sweets, especially in the evenings, when he often got so mopey.

Eric settled into his new life as unobtrusively as possible. He was a nobody here, but that was okay. He’d known his whole life he would never take the throne.

Fin


End file.
